The Meaning of Survival
by fictionalwhims
Summary: Ellie Miller is piecing her life back together when a severe storm hits Broadchurch-and brings with it Alec Hardy. The pair begins to navigate their reunion but the storm soon reveals other consequences. A young girl has gone missing and both detectives know that they need to work fast if they're going to find her alive. (Hardy/Miller slowburn, T for language, rating may change)
1. Chapter 1

**Background/Notes:** It's been years since I've written any fanfiction. I dove back in earlier this year with a different fandom and realized how much I miss it. Hopefully you won't mind if I'm a bit out of practice!

This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter Broadchurch story, and it's also my very first attempt at writing a mystery. I've got it all outlined but there are a few options for how the case eventually plays out, so even I'm not entirely sure how it ends. Mostly, however, this is a story about how Alec Hardy and Ellie Miller reunite and, if they're very lucky, help each other move forward. There will be a couple of OCs in this story but ONLY in terms of the new case that Hardy and Miller will be working on, nothing else.

I hope you enjoy the story and please do send me your thoughts. You can also find me on Tumblr as _cliffsandsea,_ and I often post sneak peeks of new chapters up there (or else just pretty pictures of the cast and scenery) and I do take prompts/requests. I think that's it, so let's get on with the first chapter!

* * *

 _ **The Meaning of Survival  
First Chapter**_

Alec Hardy dreams about seagulls. Their cries echo in his ears when he wakes, peculiar and lonely sounds that linger long after he's climbed out of bed. With the seagull cries come memories of high sea cliffs and the tang of salty breezes that he refuses to admit he misses.

He fixes himself a decaf tea while he struggles to shove Broadchurch out of his mind. He is far from there, miles and months apart from the events of that disastrous summer. There are no gulls circling above his tiny shed of a cottage, no smell of the sea here. Out the front door, green spaces and low stone buildings crowd over hilltops. Best of all, there are no ghosts here: no dead children caught in relentless tides. No one knows him here and there's a certain freedom in that. Perhaps now at last he can recover in peace where there are no desperate parents or smug exes, no nagging coworkers, just the quiet of this village and its anonymous residents.

He checks his phone. No messages, either.

There's a letter on the small table in his dining nook. It flutters in the breeze from the open window. He's been cleared for active duty, thanks entirely to the pacemaker in his chest. Now the only obstacle to rebuilding his career is finding a position. He has no desire to return to the South Mercia police force, and Broadchurch is impractically far away. Glasgow flickers through his mind's eye but he rejects the idea quickly: he's been away for too long, and it's much too far from Daisy.

The sensible thing would be to stay in this village. It's only ten miles from Sandbrook's high street and twenty minutes from Daisy's school. The house he once shared with Tess is on the other side of town, but he doesn't mind that. He's close enough to spend the occasional evening with his daughter there. He could make a home here. His pension covers the rent for the tiny cottage and he's much happier with grassy hills than he ever was with the endless ocean.

And yet…

Things with Tess haven't been going smoothly. It's not surprising, but he isn't sure how many more weekends like the last one he can stomach. Daisy is an adult and while she seems to be warming up to him (albeit very slowly), she doesn't have a lot of time for him. He feels lost here, more alone even than he was when he left Sandbrook behind with his life in shambles. Perhaps that's why he hasn't looked for a job on the police force yet. He hasn't put down any roots, nor is he at all sure that he wants to.

And then of course, there's the fact that he's dreaming about bloody seagulls.

 **** TMOS****

The nights pass slowly. Ellie Miller doesn't sleep; the dreams turn too easily to nightmares and her waking life supplies plenty of those. No need for her to seek out more. She's barely made it through the last year, through months where she was hanging by the barest skin of her teeth, and ever since her world was shattered there's no longer been any respite in sleep. Though three months have passed since her husband's joke of a trial, her therapist continues to advise against using any more sleeping pills and so Ellie is forced to find rest in other ways.

She spends a lot of time reading. Working as well as mothering a teenager and a toddler doesn't leave much time for it during the day, so at night she cracks open mystery novels to pass the darkest hours. She enjoys the guessing, solving the cases when the stakes are low and the characters are all strangers. There is safety in the fiction, where there are no child-sized sneakers too still on the sand and no small body covered by a _towel_ , of all things. More than anything, there is no Joe.

Sometimes, if her mystery novels feature a battered down, world-weary detective, Ellie imagines the dialogue in a thick Scottish brogue. At first she tries not to because she shies away from thinking about Alec Hardy too much. Eventually however, she gives in. There's something oddly comforting about it, a thought she does not allow herself to pursue further.

Occasionally her phone will buzz with a text. Beth Latimer sometimes keeps her company through the long watches of the night, sending book recommendations or simply catching up with her news. Ellie has no doubt that Beth doesn't sleep much either. Sometimes it's her nephew Olly or her sister Lucy messaging her, making sure she's not too lonely or overwhelmed with single parenting. They ask after Tom and tell her they'd love to watch Fred, a show of familial solidarity that is still a little odd but nonetheless welcomed. As a single, working mother, Ellie needs all the help they're willing to give.

And then, every once in a while, Ellie's phone vibrates and it's Hardy. They'll fire a couple of messages back and forth, the _how are yous_ and the _what have you been up tos_ hiding the questions that she wants to ask him the most: where are you, are you coming back, what am I supposed to do now?

Hardy never has much to say, but she's still unreasonably excited to see his name flash up on the screen of her phone. He's north now, somewhere inland. He and his daughter see each other on most Sunday evenings with Tess acting as a strict chaperone and sometimes referee. As far as Ellie can tell, he's still on limited duty, teaching recruits for the South Mercia police force. He doesn't seem to be in a huge rush to take the physical that would clear him for active duty. Maybe he's taking some time to lick his wounds. God knows that Ellie understands. Shards from her own shattered life still cut deep, and it can't be any different for him.

He wears his armor better than her, though: a few texts and then silence, his usual tactic of minimal contact with the outside world still in full effect. Maybe she understands that a little better now too.

There is a book open in her lap, an American mystery novel which is just a bit too transparent to hold her attention for long. She forces her eyes back to the page; it's easier than remembering Hardy or the events that had bound them together over the past year or so. She knows better than to stroll too far down memory lane. It's easier to escape into the novel, even if it is a little boring. And when the sun comes up, she'll see Tom off to school and take Fred for a walk down the high street so he can peek into all the shop windows. Life will resume in the morning. It must, because whether she likes it or not, the days march steadily, inevitably forward. She is determined not to be left behind.

 **** TMOS****

Dawn is a murky affair: heavy pewter clouds are drooping over Broadchurch, completely obscuring the sun. The sky is churning with the threat of rain, but there isn't a single drop all the way to Tom's school and back. It's not a very pretty day off, but Ellie can't hide inside and wait for the storm. She's dangerously low on groceries as it is, and Tom is eating so much she isn't sure where he's putting it. In his legs, probably. He's going to be taller than her very soon, and probably taller than Joe as well, although she shies away from thinking her husband's name.

Since there's no help for it, she loads Fred's pram into the back of her car and drives into town. The residents of Broadchurch are used to inclement weather but she still doesn't see very many people out and about as she drives down the high street toward the market. She waves at a few people she recognizes and tries to ignore the fact that less people waved back than would have a year ago. The overwhelming majority of Ellie's friends and coworkers have welcomed her back into the fold, but there will always be a few people that think she knew, or should have known, about what Joe had done.

She parks at the market, fixes a smile on her face for anyone watching, and straps Fred into his pram. He isn't very happy about it—she wouldn't be surprised if the entire town could hear his wails—but he calms down soon enough when she promises him a treat when they get back to the car. The wind is picking up and it chills her even through her favorite orange coat. She makes a mental note to call into work and see if they need extra help during what will no doubt be a bastard of a storm.

By the time that she exits the store, both she and Fred are in a terrible mood and the sky has opened up. Fat drops of rain quickly soak her, her son and all of her groceries as she makes a dash for her car. If possible, the clouds look even more malevolent than they had forty-five minutes ago, and Ellie hurries to get Fred sheltered and strapped into his car seat. She piles the dripping shopping bags into her boot and then climbs into the car herself at last, resisting the urge to shake the water out of her hair like a wet dog. She really should have done her shopping yesterday.

She's careful on the drive back through the high street, watching like a hawk for pedestrians fleeing toward the dry refuge of the shops on either side of the street. The road sometimes floods as well, and it is raining buckets outside so she takes it nice and easy. It's only because she's driving so slow that she spots him at all, loping through the downpour in a thoroughly unsuitable jacket and looking like a shaggy, half-drowned dog. She yelps a little and stamps down on the brakes, certain that she's imagining things. A second look, however, confirms his identity beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Alec Hardy is back in Broadchurch.

 **** TMOS****

"You complete, _utter_ knob! You're like to get sick, wandering around out there in that. Why didn't you call? But no, not Alec Hardy-you'd rather just pop back into town without a word, never mind the fact that some of us have better things to do than—" Ellie's words trail off into a frustrated sort of growl while Hardy stares down at his single overnight bag and waits for her to be finished lecturing him. He might have known she'd be angry; this is his usual effect on her and in a way, he's missed it. Well, _missed it_ isn't exactly the correct term, but it's a change from the unbroken silence he's been living with for the last three months.

"Hello to you too, Miller," he mutters with more than a hint of sarcasm.

She ignores him. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"The real estate office was closed. I was walking to the Trader's." Hardy's a touch defensive, and instead of meeting her gaze he is watching the soggy town pass by as they drive toward Ellie's house.

"No, I mean what are you doing in Broadchurch? I thought you were up north mending things with Daisy—did you say real estate office?"

"Not to buy. I thought I'd rent that little place by the water again. Just for a while."

He lapses back into silence and Ellie resists, just barely, the urge to reach over and smack his arm. "Why are you trying to rent a shack here when your daughter is in Sandbrook, Hardy?"

"We've worked out a deal. When her summer holiday starts in June, she'll come down and stay with me for a couple of weeks. And she's shown me how to Skype, so I'll still get to talk to her. She's a sixteen-year-old girl, she's not keen to have her detective dad at her heels at the time," he replies, still staring out of the window. His body is angled away from her and his shoulders are curled, a position that reminds her so strongly of Tom when he's trying to deal with pain on his own that she nearly runs her fingers into his hair. She gives herself a violent shake; Hardy is no child in need of comfort, he's a grown man. There are some lines it's better not to cross, and it's only because he looks so pitiful that she has any desire to touch him. They're not nice to each other, they just aren't.

"What happened? It seemed to be going okay when we talked last." This time Ellie's voice is gentle.

"Tess and I had a bad argument. She called Dave and I said some things I shouldn't have…" He breaks off, shaking his head a little. "Anyway, it was decided that my presence there is a bit too disruptive, it's upsetting everyone. I volunteered to move back south so long as I could see Daisy during the summer. We sat down with her and planned it all out: Sunday phone calls and a little vacation down here on the beach over the summer. Then I left."

Ellie is gripping her steering wheel hard and it's only when her fingers start to ache that she realizes what she's doing. She stretches her hands a few times to distract herself from thinking horrible thoughts about Hardy's ex-wife. _It was decided his presence was a bit too disruptive._ She just bets she knows exactly which one of them did the deciding. Honestly, that woman…

She shoots him a glance. He's still turned away but she can see lines of deep hurt etched into his face in his reflection in the passenger side window.

"What did you argue about?"

"Not now, Miller." His tone warns her to close the subject, at least for now. She complies and they're enveloped in silence again, punctuated only by the rain hitting the windscreen and Fred in the back gurgling to himself. They are nearly back to her house when she breaks it.

"You're not to stay at the Trader's. You'll sleep at my place tonight and I'll take you into town tomorrow to sort out a rental, assuming the whole place isn't underwater by then."

"You don't have to do that, Miller."

The look she gives him is withering and he doesn't protest any further. Five minutes later she parks in her driveway and they brace themselves to climb out into the storm. Together they get the boot unloaded and Fred into the house without getting too badly soaked. Hardy begins putting groceries away while Ellie sorts out Fred and then grabs some linens to make up the spare bed in the guestroom. It doesn't really hit her until she's smoothing down the sheets that she's invited Alec Hardy to stay over. _Bless_. Alec 'the Knob' Hardy, sleeping in her spare bedroom.

With a sigh she heads back downstairs to see how badly he's done with the groceries.

 **** TMOS****

The day has darkened even more by the time Ellie needs to pick Tom up from school, and she eyes the black clouds with trepidation. After hours of steady deluge, she has no doubt that some of the roads are flooded. Her little sedan isn't going to be much of a match for the weather, but neither can Tom walk home in this mess.

"Do you mind keeping an eye on Fred?" she asks Hardy as she pulls on her orange coat over a blue sweater. He's actually been a bit of a help this afternoon. He hadn't screwed up putting the groceries away too badly, and he had allowed Fred to drive his toy cars all up and down his long legs for the better part of twenty minutes before Ellie had put the toddler down for a nap.

"We'll be fine." He studies the heavy sky and then turns his gaze to her. "Go slowly. People will have flooded their engines trying to push through, it'll be a mess."

"I _have_ driven through the rain before, Hardy," she tells him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "I did grow up here."

He shrugs at her as if to say, _on your head be it_. She notices, however, that he refrains from giving her any more advice. She tracks down her purse and keys and then points out the piece of paper tacked onto the refrigerator with emergency numbers.

"Ellie, I know the emergency numbers." He's looking at her like she's gone a bit mad. "I used to be police here. And I don't know how much help Lucy or Oliver would be in this."

"You never know," she replies. "Alright, I'm off. If Fred gets fussy, turn on the DVD player. His cartoons are already loaded up so all you'll have to do is hit play. That should keep him occupied until I get back."

He all but pushes her out of the door, wanting her to get this chore over with before the storm gets any worse. She blows a kiss to a still-sleepy Fred and then runs to her car, clamping her hood down on top of her curls. The normally brief trip to Tom's school and back takes nearly forty minutes and the streets are a washed-out maze. Cars have been flooded and abandoned, and rivers of water gush through the lowest roads. By the time she retrieves Tom and gets back to the house, she's ready for a cup of tea and hot bath. Tom eyeballs the football pitch mournfully as they pass it—it now bears a striking resemblance to a pond.

It is a relief to walk back into her house with Tom safe and sound. There's only one small hitch: she's forgotten to warn him about Hardy staying over for the night. Teenager and former detective square off in the foyer, and then her son looks to her for an explanation.

"You remember Hardy, Tom? He needs a place to sleep for the night. Tomorrow he'll be finding his own place."

"There _is_ a hotel." He sets down his dripping backpack.

"That's enough. Hardy is a friend, and I'm not about to drive in that mess again. He'll sleep here and that's the end of it. Now, I'll make us some tea to warm us up, and then we'd better round up some torches or candles in case the power goes out," Ellie says. Tom glances at Hardy again and then heads for the kitchen. He's more interested in food than their sullen houseguest. She follows him into the kitchen to fix tea, and by the time the kettle has boiled and the teabags have steeped, Hardy has found a handful of candles and two torches, both of which need fresh batteries.

It's a bit weird, she thinks as they pile the candles onto the coffee table and then settle in to watch TV. Hardy has been round before, of course, but not very often. He is sitting a little stiffly to be comfortable, his eyes glued on the news during the weather forecast. His legs seem much too long for the armchair he's seated in, firmly apart from the pile of Millers all pressed together on the couch. They watch the news until supper, and that is even more weird. Hardy doesn't do anything to alleviate the strangeness; he eats very quietly while the family chats about their day, and only speaks if one of them asks him something directly.

The power goes out after the meal, and Ellie and Tom play cards while Fred stacks (or, more often, throws) blocks in the middle of the living room. It takes ages for Tom's bedtime to roll around, but at last both kids are asleep and the adults are alone.

Ellie carries a candle into the kitchen and pours herself a generous glass of wine. She hesitates, and then pours one for Hardy as well. There's a bit of juggling as she carries the glasses and the candle back into the living room, but she hands over his wine without incident. His eyes flick up to her face, down to the wine, and then back again.

"Ta," he murmurs. He's tired but relaxed, she can tell by the way he nearly purrs the syllable. Little does he know that she isn't done questioning him yet. She places the candle back on the coffee table with the others and resumes her spot on the couch. Hardy swirls his wine and stares into the flames of the three candlesticks they've lit up. Even with the wind howling outside and the rain lashing across the windows, it's a cozy setting. This also means it's the perfect time to strike.

"What did you fight with Tess about? And don't even bother trying to dodge the question. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to send you all the way down here with your tail tucked between your legs, so out with it."

His eyes come to rest on her face, two dark pools in his pale face under hair that is crying out for a pair of sheers. He stares at her for a few seconds and then drops his gaze back to the candles. Candlelight makes his shadow dance on the wall behind him, but he is very still.

"When…when I left Sandbrook, after the case fell apart…" There is another pause. He doesn't seem too willing to move on, but Ellie waits and he continues after all. "The only reason I had the strength to go was my arrangement with Tess. When it all came apart, we didn't have very long to decide how to handle her very serious mistake. We argued for a long time about what to say to the press, and we argued even longer about what to say to our daughter. In the end, I only agreed to say that the loss of evidence was my fault because Tess swore to me that when Daisy was old enough, we'd tell her what really happened. After the trial, I was told by our chief inspector that it would be better to transfer out of South Mercia. Daisy didn't want anything to do with me at that point anyway, so I took the job here in Broadchurch and dragged Claire Ripley with me, and you know the rest."

He takes a tiny sip from the wineglass, trying to hide the bitter twist of his lips. Ellie forces herself to be patient and let him tell her the rest on his own, but it's difficult. She wants to yell at him for letting Tess manipulate him so easily into taking the fall, but that won't change anything. There isn't really much room for her to judge; the man she'd married had turned out to be a child murderer in love with his own victim.

"Things with Daisy and I have been getting better. I thought it might be time to tell her the truth. She's older now, and that had always been the condition of my leaving in the first place. Last weekend, I told Tess that we should sit down with Daisy and explain everything. I wanted to tell her what happened and why we'd kept it from her." He swirls the wine in the glass and watches it spin. It's easier than seeing Ellie's concern, much easier than seeing her pity. "Tess disagreed. It got pretty heated. She called Dave—who is now divorced—and he came over to back her up. She still doesn't think Daisy is old enough, or that's what she says. I think it's more that she doesn't want Daisy to ever find out at all."

They both sip their wine now, and Ellie's hand is shaking with anger as she lifts her glass to her lips.

"Dave didn't help matters. I said…pretty terrible things to both of them. Then I went for a long drive to clear my thoughts. When I came back, we all decided that I didn't belong there and we worked out our present arrangement. And then I came here, and that's when you picked me up."

"Are you telling me that Daisy still doesn't know?" Ellie puts her glass down before she spills wine all over her couch. "You still haven't told her?"

"I thought I'd tell her when she came down here during the summer. Tess will be angry but it's well past time Daisy knows the truth." Hardy doesn't drink any more wine either, probably something to do with his pacemaker. They stare at each other from across the room, her furious and him resigned.

"That poor girl, with the pair of you as parents. Stubborn as rocks. About the same IQ as well." Ellie turns her face away, staring out at the storm rather than at him. She's too angry to look at him right now. "I suppose it's better late than never, but don't blame me if she doesn't want to talk to you after that."

"I won't." He sighs and runs a hand down his face. "I don't know what else to do. It all seemed to make sense at the time. Turns out it was harder than I thought it would be."

"Lying usually is," Ellie replies. He flinches but doesn't defend himself. Perhaps he's in full agreement with her for once. They sit in silence for a while and it isn't long before Ellie's frustration drains away. What a picture they make, two tragic figures sitting in a candlelit room in the middle of a storm. When she's decided that she's felt bad for them both long enough, she gets to her feet and collects their half-empty wine glasses.

"We'd better turn in," she says. "We can talk more tomorrow, and by then I'm sure I'll have a long speech prepared about what a giant wanker you are, but I'm tired now."

"I'll look forward to it," Hardy retorts. He sounds annoyed but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes, and she has to admit that it's nice to have a sparring partner again. She always feels better after she's insulted him a few times. It's absurd, how much she's missed that aspect of their relationship…but then she's always been good at insulting people.

She carries the glasses into the kitchen and he trails after her, hands shoved deep in his pockets. She pours the unfinished wine away and then turns back to him.

"Better say goodnight then."

He nods. "Thank you for letting me stay here."

"Don't mention it." She points a finger at him. "And don't make me regret it."

His face is the picture of innocence. It doesn't comfort her in the least. "Goodnight, Hardy," she says.

"Goodnight, Miller," he replies, and then he heads up the stairs to her guestroom. She watches him go for a moment, then she returns to the living room to snuff out the candles before retiring to her bedroom. It is, although she is reluctant to admit it even in the privacy of her own mind, nice to have him back.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Notes:** There will be a case for our favorite detectives to solve, and that will be introduced in the next chapter. Originally this chapter was going to end with the case, but it was starting to become a monster so I decided to intro it in the second chapter, which makes more sense insofar as the timing involved anyway. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and I promise there will be some good-old-fashioned sleuthing and more than a little bickering coming up very soon!

Any comments or crticisms you have are extremely welcome! Also, I really do take prompts so feel free to message me here on or else on Tumblr ( **cliffsandsea** ), and look for chapter two very soon! Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This chapter took a LOT longer than I expected, and I'm really sorry. I had a tiny bit of writer's block and a lot of personal stuff going on. The good news is, that should be the last time that it takes me three weeks to update this fic. This chapter is the start of the case that the rest of the story will revolve around, and I'll have to ask you to be gentle with me for a couple of reasons. The first reason is that my only knowledge of investigations come from TV, movies and books and we all know that stuff isn't super accurate. The second reason is that I'm a little out of my depth since I've never tried to write a multi-chapter mystery or investigation. So if something doesn't seem right or is not the way that a police department would handle a case, please forgive me and by all means correct me! If there's any way I can, I will make corrections in the story. I may take a little artistic license and beg your forgiveness if there are changes that wouldn't make sense for the story, but ONLY if I can't make it work accurately.

Those things aside, I hope you enjoy the next chapter! It is a slow burn but it's my headcanon that Hardy's feelings are already there, so there will be some pining going on as the story progresses! Thank you for being patient and don't worry, Chapter 3 will not take three weeks to finish.

* * *

 _ **The Meaning of Survival  
Second Chapter**_

A second watery dawn greets Ellie as she forces herself out of bed. For the first time in weeks, she has managed to get a few hours of sleep, and while she's grateful for the rest it's left her groggy. She lumbers to her feet and her muddled thoughts are barely keeping up with her as she makes her way to the bathroom by muscle memory alone. At some point during the night the storm had slackened; rain is still falling but without the same ferocity as the day before. She'll have to go into the station today as they will need all hands on deck in the aftermath of that tempest. Washed out roads and abandoned cars will only be the start of it, there will also be flooded homes and boats that have been wrecked or lost. She groans and wishes she could go back to bed but she's never turned away from duty's call and she's not about to start now.

Besides which, work helps her keep her mind off of just about everything else, and keeping her mind off of everything else is the only way she's managed to keep going.

She pulls on thick pajamas and ties on a robe. A glance out of the window at roads that had suddenly transformed into rivers overnight is enough to convince her that Tom shouldn't go to school today, if the schools are even open. They're closer to sea level than the house and she's willing to bet the classrooms are half-full of mud. This leaves her with a problem she's becoming all too familiar with as a single mother: she needs to find someone to look after her kids while she's at work.

Tom's probably old enough to look after himself for an hour or two, but Fred's a handful and needs more consistent supervision, and she'd never leave them both alone for the majority of the day. Especially not now, not after—

 _Oh, Danny._ The boy's mental image still has the power to wound. He had been such a fixture in their house, he and Tom glued to each other practically since birth. She misses him for his own sake and for Beth's, and every time she remembers his cheeky smile she hates Joe a little bit more.

She shakes it off and refocuses. Lucy has checked herself into rehab _again_ (please God let it stick this time, Ellie thinks) and Oliver will be covering the aftermath of the storm for the paper. She'll have to phone round and see if any of the normal child minders are free. Unless…

 _Desperate times call for desperate measures._ This is what Ellie tells herself as she descends the stairs and heads into the kitchen. She can already picture the look on Hardy's face, the open-mouthed disbelief at her cheek; she's all too familiar with it. It's the least he can do after her hospitality, or at least that's what she tells herself. It rings a little bit hollow even to her, and she decides to fry up some eggs to sweeten the deal. As she shuffles around the room she phones the school but gets a recorded message. Sure enough, classes have been canceled. Fred's normal childminder doesn't answer at all, and Ellie hopes everything is alright.

The smell of brewing coffee acts as a lure; Ellie has just finished texting the childminder to see if everything is okay when a very disheveled Hardy enters the kitchen. She'd never figured the former DI as a morning person, but it's still a little comical to watch him rub his eyes and blink like a bear coming out of hibernation. His eyes fix on the half-full coffee pot as if it contains some sort of miracle elixir. His longing look makes her feel a little bad, as too much caffeine is still a no-no, even after the pacemaker surgery.

"Morning. I take it you slept well." She slides him a box of herbal tea and he makes a face at it.

"Well enough," he replies as she puts the kettle on to boil water for him. He glances at the frying pan. "Are you cooking breakfast?"

Uh-oh, he's suspicious.

"Just a few eggs. Bit of protein, you know." She gives him a wide smile. He stares at her as if she should be aware that her chipper attitude in the morning is an affront to mankind. Then comprehension slowly dawns on his face.

"You want something." His tone is mildly accusatory. She plonks an empty mug in front of him with a sniff.

"I have no idea what you're on about," she replies, but she pours boiling water into the mug with a little too much enthusiasm and it sloshes out over the counter. Hardy's eyes follow the gathering puddle before he turns them back up to the guilty flush on her cheeks and neck.

"You're a shit liar, Miller." He sighs with his entire body. "What do you need?"

"Someone to watch Tom and Fred while I go into work," Ellie says quickly. "The childminder isn't answering and Tom's school is out, and I can't call out of work after a storm like that—"

Hardy cuts her off with an impatient wave of his hand. "It's fine. I don't mind. I'm sure we can get through a day together."

Ellie hadn't been expecting such an easy acquiescence. All of a sudden, her grand plan seems a lot less like a brilliant idea, and she nervously begins to backpedal. "It's just that Tom isn't exactly fond of you, and it's going to be quite a _long_ day. And Fred gets fussy in the afternoon, even though he knows he'll feel better after a nap and—"

"I've only just agreed and now you're trying to talk me out of it?" He shakes his head at her as if she's a mystery he'll never quite understand. "Tom and I can manage a day together, I'm sure, and Fred's not the first fussy toddler I've looked after."

He's right, of course he is, but she's still feeling oddly nervy as she nods her agreement. Hardy is not someone you'd associate with the phrase 'kid-friendly,' but he _is_ a father and her options are rather limited today. She'll just have to keep her phone close. With any luck, Tom will take this opportunity to play his video games; when he starts playing, he has a tendency to forget the world around him. Most of the time it drives Ellie a little mad (especially when she's actually cooked a proper dinner and she can't get him to put down the controller and come to the table), but today it might be a saving grace.

"It'll be fine, Miller," Hardy assures her again, cutting into her thoughts.

"Right. Of course it will be. Alright, I'd better get ready. I'm sure it's all hands on deck," she says. It takes an effort not to second guess herself as she gets ready, but in the end she kisses her sons goodbye and leaves them in the care of her former boss without more of a fuss. There are people that will need her full attention today, so she forces any lingering doubts to the back of her mind.

.:TMOS:.

Ellie had returned to Devon after helping Hardy solve the Sandbrook case, fully expecting to spend many more days handing out citations for speeding before having a chance to rise in the ranks again. Her former Chief Superintendent however, had other ideas. CS Jenkinson had contacted her just a few days after the paperwork for the Sandbrook case had been wrapped up and had offered her a DS position again. After a little hesitation, Ellie accepted the role and returned. Going back had seemed inevitable at the time, although sometimes in the middle of the night she wonders if she's made a mistake.

Days like today erase those thoughts from her mind. The station busier than a hive full of bees: all of the uniformed officers are out already, along with many police and fire volunteers. They're being overwhelmed by calls for help from flooded homes and washed out streets, and with the continuing rain there will only be more people that need aid. This is why she'd returned to Broadchurch when Jenkinson had called on her: these are her people, and she must help them if she can.

She fills her car with provisions such as clean water and food, blankets and bright yellow or orange rain slickers. After checking in and hearing the news—multiple low-level streets and houses flooded completely out, many abandoned cars blocking routes to higher ground and debris piling up on the beaches—she joins another group of police about to head out into the chaos. They head out into the town to help people reach higher ground, in this case the church, and to look for anyone who might be stuck by the rising water levels.

It is long, wet, hard work. She wonders if she will ever feel dry again, and as the hours pass she forgets to worry about Tom and Fred. He's not the most personable bloke, but responsibility is Hardy's byword and they're in a much safer place than many of the families Ellie directs to the stone church. Her radio is filled with traffic: offers requesting assistance here or there, directions on where to bring food or water, reports of the estuary flooding into the lowest areas of town. Many boats are gone or badly damaged, and she hears helicopters fly overhead more than once, no doubt looking for trapped people or to assess the severity of the oil slicks from sunken cars and pleasure boats.

Toward evening, the word is put out that Paul Coates and several of the less-effected families of town have organized a large, hot meal at the church to feed the emergency workers and those that have been displaced. When her search and rescue party is relieved, Ellie heads there to make sure that Paul has all the help he needs. To her surprise, Hardy and her sons are already there.

Tom is helping pass out food, sometimes chatting with other residents he knows well while he fills their plates. He looks dry and safe, and he seems to take pride in doing something to help. Fred is with several other toddlers, all watched over by a few mothers from town. Hardy is also serving food, but Ellie can see he's keeping an eye on Fred as well in spite of the gaggle of parents that circle the toddler's makeshift play area.

Feeling her throat close up with pride at the sight of Tom helping people, relief at the simple fact that both her sons are whole and dry and safe, and with gratefulness at Hardy for thinking of this, she moves toward them. She's nearly ready to collapse, but she needs to hug her boys first.

"Mum!" Tom has spotted her. He waves as she gets nearer and doesn't protest when she slips her arms around him and gives him a good squeeze. He pats her back, and it strikes her again that he's all knees and elbows now but not for long. Soon he'll fill out and look like an adult, and God help her she's not at all ready for that. "You need a shower."

"Too right," Ellie replies, "but maybe some food first."

Hardy has a plate set aside for her. She wants to fling her arms around him in gratitude, but remembers herself at the last moment.

"Thank you," she tells him, although the words seem much too small and too common in the face of all the help he's provided today.

"Least I could do," he replies. His eyes linger on her face, taking in the lines of worry and exhaustion. He looks as though he wants to say something more, but his lips don't move. She finally looks away, her eyes turning to Fred, and Hardy gestures to him. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. He's been asking for you all day."

.

She joins her toddler without any further prompting, gathering him into her arms and burying her face in his curls. He wriggles against her, both glad that she's here and impatient to get back to the toys scattered in from of him. He does pause long enough to plant a very sticky, slobbery kiss on her cheek, and Ellie beams at him. Another long, soggy day is in store for her tomorrow, but she can face it as long as she knows her boys are safe and waiting for her.

She tucks into her meal, and thirty minutes later drives Hardy and her sons back to the house. In all the chaos of the day, they'd neglected to get Hardy either a room at the _Trader's_ or his own lodgings, but Ellie is inexplicably grateful for that as the four of them settle in for an early night. They don't talk much, but then they don't need to; at some point during all they'd been through together, they'd learned that words weren't always necessary. He knows she's grateful, she knows he doesn't feel as though thanks are needed. They wish each other goodnight and head to their separate rooms, where Ellie falls asleep before her head hits the pillow.

 **** TMOS****

On the third morning that Hardy wakes up in Ellie Miller's guestroom, the phone rings. It's barely past five in the morning, but he already knows he won't be going back to sleep. He'd watched the boys all day yesterday as well and he's exhausted, but he knows that Ellie, who has been at the forefront of the recovery efforts, is far more tired than he is. She'd never admit it to him, but she needs his support now, and he's never been able to turn away from someone that needed his help.

He drags himself to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and rolling up onto his toes. He straightens his sleep tousled t-shirt and sweatpants, then he pads downstairs into the kitchen and puts both the kettle and the coffee pot on. Outside the world is still wet and dreary. The rain has slowed to a heavy drizzle. The worst of the storm has blown out of the area, but the damage has been done. He stares out of the window at the beleaguered town. Its pull over him is inexplicable, a siren's song that he doesn't know the words to but follows anyway. He wonders if the worst is over for this place now that the tempest has dissipated.

One look at Miller's face as she joins him in the kitchen is enough to tell him that it isn't.

"I've got to go in." She's distracted, her voice and gaze far away. There's a familiar, determined glint in her eyes, although her cheeks are already pale and her face is already gaunt from prolonged fatigue. "There's a girl missing. She goes to the high school in town, one of Chloe Latimer's friends. Her parents reported her missing yesterday, but they were told to wait a little while and see if she showed up at the church or any of the other shelters in town. She still hasn't appeared but a uniform thinks she's found the girl's car. No sign of her though."

"Foul play?" Hardy asks, pouring her a mug of coffee. She takes it with a quiet "Ta," but shakes her head in answer to his question.

"Hard to say. It had been washed into several other abandoned vehicles at the bottom of a hill. The weather's probably done terrible damage to any physical evidence left. I've got to get into the station and brief a team before we go out and meet SOCO at the car. And tomorrow we can officially put the missing persons report out to other nearby departments, although in that storm and with no car…" She turns hollow eyes up to his. He can see that she isn't holding out much hope that this missing girl is alive, and the sadness in her gaze is so profound that Hardy's chest tightens. He wants to hold out his arms to her, although he already knows she won't accept that sort of comfort from him. He's wanted to provide her some sort of physical support or shelter ever since he dashed her world apart in that cold, blue interrogation room all those months ago. Disturbingly, that need has only grown more profound.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants to avoid giving into it.

"Anyway, I'd better finish getting ready. Will you be working at the church shelter again?" she asks him. She's trying to smile, a pale illusion of the cheery grin she used to sport when they'd first met. A sense of loss rolls over him at the sight of it, and he drops his eyes to his toes and nods, allowing his hair to hide his expression.

"We'll probably help with one of the meals, at least. Wee Fred can't usually last much longer than that." He looks out of the window again. The rising sun is still hidden behind steel clouds, but it is growing steadily brighter. "Miller, if you need any help-"

"I know where to find you," she says, finishing his sentence. A wry smile touches her lips, as distilled as the morning sunlight. "Perhaps you'll get your old job back."

There's a question under the small jab— _do you want your old job back? Do you want to make a life here again?_

"We'll see," he agrees, and wonders if she can sense his unspoken answer, which is (of course), _I do._


End file.
